


Your Fellow King

by piningpinescone



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Ghost King Danny, ghost king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 15:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piningpinescone/pseuds/piningpinescone
Summary: The Observants always hated you for your refusal to do their bidding. They want you to kill again, but you know better.





	Your Fellow King

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot from the perspective of someone who's been the ghost king for about 200 years, based off a weird dream I had. It doesn't necessarily have to be Danny as king, but it can be read like that and still make sense.

You sit on your throne, a cloak of darkness around your shoulders. Your sword is at your side, waiting patiently for your guiding hand. The Crown of Fire rests on your head, creating a halo of toxic green flames. The Ring of Rage is on your finger, and your hand has long since stopped shaking from the sheer power that it gives you.

Clockwork floats on your right. His staff is in his hand and the clock in his chest ticks with a steady rhythm. Like you, his face is emotionless, and also like you, he is staring at the door.

Your fingers tap the armrest, creating a rapid tapping sound that echoes through the empty room along with the beating of your friend’s not-heart.

You’re waiting. You’re not sure what for, but when it comes to Clockwork, you’ve learned to be patient.

You feel them before you hear or see them. Three bright cores and one that is just as powerful, but wrapped in shadow. You recognize the signatures of the first three ghosts. Observants. That must be why Clockwork is here.

You want to sneer when they open the door, but you keep your face stoic and steady. They would not get the best of you. You do, however, raise an eyebrow at the ball of shadow in the third Obsevant’s hand. That was the fourth core you felt.

The three Observants bow to you, closing their eyes and calling your name in unison. Well, not your name. Your title. They refused to say your real name.

“Why have you come to me today?” You ask, trying hard to keep a sarcastic remark from passing your lips.

They rise and the third Observant floats forward, holding out the shadowy core.

“We bring a criminal for execution.” It tells you.

“Why have you not taken it to the warden and his executioner?”

“ _Only by your sword can he die. _” The Observants say, once again speaking in unison. Their tone sends a shiver down your nonexistent spine.__

____

____

A sense of foreboding crashes down on you. There were few ghosts you could think of that only the King had the power to kill. Just who was this ghost?

You don't let your uneasiness show. Instead, you narrow your eyes and stand up. At your full height, you still are no taller than any Observant, but they know better than to think less of you because of it. That didn't stop them, however, from subtly disrespecting you at every chance.

You take the core from the Observant and hold it gently, scrutinizing its shadowy surface. It was rare for ghosts to be held within their cores like this. It was practically torture. Looking at it now was making you sick and you had half a mind to outlaw the practice altogether.

It is a deep royal blue, grey swirling through it like smoke in a glass ball. It's smooth to the touch and lets off a small white glow.

With no warning, you release the ghost from its tiny prison. You drop the core, now glowing brightly, and the Observants jump back in what seems to be fear. It doesn't hit the ground. Instead, it floats far above the floor, its glow growing into the vague silhouette of a man. 

Suddenly, the figure comes into full definition, falling to the floor and then to his knees.

He is bathed in greyscale. His skin is grey, his hair is white, and his clothes are more of the same. He wears armour and a cape. He carries no sword and he wears no crown, but with his strong disposition, he looks like a king of old.

When he looks up at you, you see a young face and blue eyes. Sad, sad eyes glowing the same shade as his core. There is, however, a peculiar mark on his forehead. An upside down symbol resembling a crown is inked into his skin. You don’t know what it is or what it means, but you have a feeling that it’s important.

He says nothing, but there is a halfway pleading look on his face.

You force your expression to remain neutral when you turn back to the Observants.

“Who is he?” You ask, betraying no emotion. One of them floats forward again.

“We have already told you, Your Highness,” It starts, “He is a criminal which only your sword may kill. He is-”

“No.” You cut it off, anger leaking into your voice and your expression, “I am not a child, Observant. _Give me a name. _”__

____

____

The Observant’s eye is wide and you feel fear rolling from its core. It must have forgotten who it was talking to.

“He is Akretta,” Clockwork says from behind you, “The Hollow King.”

You turn your attention back to the ghost before you. He is no longer looking at you though. Instead his eyes are closed and his head is bowed. With his hands clasped in front of him, he looks as though he is praying.

When you look up at the still wary Observant, you let your eyes flash red. Giving it a small peek of your true power. It is just another warning.

“And his crime?” You stare unblinkingly at it.

“H-he was discovered practicing dark magic, Your Highness.” It stutters. You gesture for it to continue, “Uhm, necromancy. We believe he was planning to summon and bind the Gatekeeper.”

You make a noncommittal sound under your breath. This was dangerous ground to be treading upon. The Gatekeeper was a figure wrapped in mystery. It is the creature that holds true domain over life and death. The Ghost Zone was not the final resting place, the Gatekeeper alone being able to travel there and back.

“And what say you, King Akretta?” You ask, “Do you deny these claims?”

“No, Your Grace,” He says, his voice a soft whisper, “I do not deny my study of Necromancy, nor do I deny my plan to summon the Keeper of Death.”

“Why?” The question seems to throw him off guard. He looks up at you with wide eyes. After a moment, his face softens, sadness overcoming it once more.

“I... I’ve begun to forget their faces… I dare not truly draw them from their eternal rest, and I would not leave my empty home,” He tells you, a tremor in his voice, “I only wished to ask the Gatekeeper for a boon, a way to simply look upon them once more.”

The anger in your shoulders and eyebrows melts away as you stare into his eyes. There is silence for a moment as you slowly turn to face your throne. In one smooth movement, you pick up your sheathed sword and stare at the hilt. You do not draw it.

“Tell me, Akretta,” You say, still facing away from him, “Why is it that you are called the Hollow King?”

There is silence a moment longer.

“When I still lived and breathed, I was a prince to be crowned king upon my coming of age,” He whispered, “The night before my coronation, a great army fell from the hills to claim my mother’s land. They tore through my dear city and none could stop them. They killed every last one of my people until all that remained was myself and my wife.”

You tighten your grip on your sword, but you do not interrupt him.

“They sought to make a mockery of me. My failure delighted them and they sought more and more bloodshed. The day after they had won, they strung up my dear wife and forced me to watch as she died. They fashioned a crown of bones and crowned me king of my hollow kingdom before they slit my throat.”

You still do not turn around.

“I awoke in the Infinite Realms in the ghostly ruins of my old home. That was so long ago… I can just barely recall the color of my wife’s eyes and the laugh of my best friend,” His voice breaks, “Soon, all memory of my kingdom will be lost.”

You turn to face him, and, once again, all falls silent. A single tear falls down his face and you feel your own eyes burn with the beginning of tears. The Observants are hiding their fury rather poorly. It seems they have already guessed your decision pertaining to the Hollow King’s afterlife.

“Stand, King Akretta,” You say, a smile on your face. He does as you command, confusion marring his features, “Lift your head, my friend, today is not the day you die.”

He smiles back at you, but the moment is ruined when an Observant rushes forward, clearly enraged.

“You cannot truly be thinking of letting him walk free!” It shouts, “A Necromancer must-”

“ _SILENCE! _” You roar, your eyes burning red and a column of flame flaring around you. The reaction is immediate. The Observant flinches back harshly, cowering away from your rage. Its eye does not move away from where you stand, glaring at it. Amidst your rage, you realize this is the same Observant that had patronized you previous.__

____

____

You can tell it wants to defend itself, but it doesn’t speak.

“ _Again, you test my patience, Observant! _” You yell. You don’t continue scorning it, forcing yourself to calm down. It would not do well to kill it.__

____

____

You take a deep, shuddering breath and close your eyes. When they open again, they no longer glow red and the fire around you has receded.

“ _For his crime of Necromancy, King Akretta will not die today nor any other day where I still reign as the absolute King of Ghosts, _” You say, an otherworldly echo filling the room, “ _A forlorn heart is not something one kills over, dumbass. _”____

_____ _

_____ _

You hear Clockwork snort at your stupid insult. The Observant wisely decides to hold its tongue, drifting to hover behind its brothers, who also keep their comments to themselves.

”Thank you, Your Grace,” The Hollow King tells you, “Though, I do not know if I am deserving of your forgiveness. I planned to break our most ancient laws with nary a thought of the consequences.”

You smile at him.

”I simply do not wish to spill more blood than is absolutely necessary,” You say, “It also helps that you are innocent of any crime and I rarely wish to do the Observants’ bidding.”

For the very first time upon meeting him, he smiles at you, gratitude filling his eyes. He bows deeply with all the fluid grace of a true king.

”Of course, Your Grace.”

”Now,” You look to the Observants, letting the air around them drop several degrees, “If that is all you have come for today, you may take your leave.”

They glance at each other before scrambling to bow and rush from the room as quickly as possible.

After they have gone, you lead Akretta away from the throne room and down one of many spacious corridors, leaving Clockwork to his own devices. You soon come to a door with a symbol of a golden bird decorating its surface.

Opening the door reveals a small room with no windows filled with an assortment of seemingly random objects. Like most of the rooms in your castle, there is no visible light source, yet you still see perfectly clear. Hanging from the walls are mirrors of all sizes, weapons, clocks, paintings, coils of rope, a white dress, and a strange looking cabinet. On tables lining the walls are ornate boxes, jewelry, goblets, plates, fine china, an entire tea set, candles, books, a quill and inkpot, watches, scarves, hats, and other such nicknacks. And all of it was glowing, however slightly that may be.

With no hesitation, you lead King Akretta to one of the tables. On it lies a few different watches. You glance at Akretta and he looks back at you confused, and you gently lift a plain looking pocket watch. It is a tarnished gold, just bigger than the palm of your hand with scratches running across its surface. You hand it to Akretta who takes it cautiously.

As soon as it has settled in his hand, it flashes blue. Glowing so brightly that Akretta almost drops it. When the light fades away, you see that the watch has changed from gold to silver and the scratches have disappeared. Akretta looks up at you, absolutely bewildered, and you can’t help but laugh.

“It is called the Memory Watch,” You explain to him, “No matter how long ago, or how forgotten, it will show you any memory you have in full detail. With it, nothing is lost to time.”

Tears fill his eyes and he falls to one knee, bowing to you.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

You simply smile, content with the knowledge that, one day, this man would be alright.

That night, you have King Akretta stay in one of your guest rooms. Tomorrow you plan to go with him to his kingdom to personally destroy all traces of Necromancy within its walls.

But first, there is something else that must be tended to.

 

You find Clockwork in your office, absently reading the names of the books on your shelves. He looks at you when you enter, his form shifting into that of an old man and his blank expression melting into a smile.

“Two hundred years, and still, you are the only one that can sneak up on me.” He says. You laugh.

“Don’t give me so much credit, old friend,” You tell him, amused, “As I recall, there have been times where you’ve been plenty surprised.”

“That’s different,” He says as he ages in reverse, “I always know when people are coming, save you.”

“Of course…” 

Your smile fades away and turns into a worried frown and you stare at the floor.

“Why did you come today?” You ask, looking at him again, “I’ve handled the Observants on my own before. What’s different?”

He sighs, his deep baritone clashing with his young face.

“And again, you’re the only one I could never lie to, either.”

“Clockwork.” You say quietly but still with a firm tone. You see him age forward now, the shadows around his eyes growing darker.

“I know you can handle the Observants. I know they hold no sway on your decisions. But I saw… I saw that if I left your side today… You would have made the wrong choice.”

You finger the hilt of your sword. You can see it in your mind’s eye, Akretta losing his head and melting into pure ectoplasm. And all that remains is his cloak. Your spoil. A reward for ending another existence. The thought makes you nauseous, sickened at the thought of killing your fellow king.

“There were many ways your judgment could have passed today,” He continued, “But no matter the circumstance, if I was absent from the room, King Akretta wound up in the hands of the Gatekeeper and the throws of Oblivion.”

A heavy silence blankets the room as you stare at the Infinite Realms that lie past the window. 

“Thank you, my friend,” You say, breaking the silence, “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! :)


End file.
